


Poisoned Glory

by sherlockedoctor



Series: In Another Life [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF John, Bottom Sherlock, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Gladiator John, M/M, Philosopher Sherlock, Rough Sex, Smut, Top John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockedoctor/pseuds/sherlockedoctor
Summary: What should I change about my writing? what do y'all think about the chapter as a whole?





	

It was 160 AD. Antonius Pius was Emperor, and an excellent Emperor at that. It seemed the lands of the Roman empire flourished under his reign. The empire grew steadily, the crops were plentiful, and more and more money flooded into the coffers of Rome every day. It was this same year that Sigar retired from his position with the senate. Sigar and Lydia Holmes had discovered they were going to have a second child, which had prompted the move from Rome. SIgar had been a loyal friend to the Emperor. When he left, the emperor granted him a large villa in the coastal city of Montalto, not too far from Rome. It was there that SIgar started a new career – the training and trading of gladiators. SIgar decided to train his own gladiators, rather than buy them from a school. Many gladiators who fought against each other in the coliseum knew the others’ tricks from having gone to the same school or training similarly. Early on after settling in Montalto, Sigar bought one of the better gladiators of the day, Gregory Lestrade. He bought slaves to train in the hopes of sending them to Rome with the best fighting skills, and unique tricks. SIgar’s schemes worked, and he became one of the wealthiest men of his trade.

When Sigar and Lydia had their second child, they were comfortably settled in Montalto with all the luxuries they could want. Sherlock Holes came out screaming, a pale, but healthy little baby. Mycroft watched over his little brother lovingly. They were inseparable. Sherlock was too younger to remember the day his father came home, and sat with Mycroft and Lydia.  
“The Emperor Antonius Pius is dead. Marcus Aurelius is to take his place.”  
The change didn’t plague the family SIgar continued his business, just the preparations for what was to come. Mycroft was schooled in politics, and Lydia took care of Sherlock. It is fair to say they were happy and content.

It was 170 AD. Sherlock was ten years old. He was quite gangly, but bright as could be. He spent most of his time with his nose in a book of philosophy, or examining the bees. He didn’t care very much for tutoring. Sigar had him tutored with another wealthy family nearby. The boy he was tutored with, Phillip, was terribly slow in Sherlock’s opinion, and the others in the class were not much better. Mycroft had finished his schooling and left for Rome, where he had found himself a position in the senate just like Sigar. His position there allowed him to handle the finances for Sigar so Sigar didn’t have to travel back and forth between Rome and Montalto as often.  
When he wasn’t reading or watching the bees, or exploring the hillside and seashore, he followed Lestrade around, watching him beginning to train the soldiers for the arena. Sherlock found all the men did fascinating, and often asked Lestrade to teach him a bit. He could handle a sword quite well, but wasn’t built to be a gladiator.  
Along with the ten men who trained in the house, there were a few servants, both men and women, who tended to the food, the garden, and waited on those living in the house.

It was the morning of the biggest market day of the year. The tradesmen who traded boys and men for service made their way to many towns that time of year, and they always had a big showing on market day. Sigar always went to see the men. He liked picking from the ones with a bit of training so that he could perfect them and send them to Rome. One of Sigar’s gladiators had lost his life the week before. Usually this would irritate SIgar, but as he was about to have a buffet of men to choose from, he didn’t mind as much.

Sherlock stood excitedly as Martha, his servant, dressed him and put his hair in place. She dressed him in a simple tunic, but put a blue cloak of light material over his shoulders to block the sun. She helped him into his sandals before straightening up and looking at her charge adoringly. He would turn into a fine young gentleman, she thought.  
“Are you excited master Sherlock?” She asked as she adjusted the cloak and tunic.  
“Oh yes. Very. Father says that because I’m ten he’s going to let me pick a boy this year.” Sherlock smiled triumphantly, pulling away from Mrs. Hudson to grab the wooden sword on his bed. Mrs. Hudson pulled him back to face her to make sure he looked fine.  
“That is very exciting! Do you think you’ll continue your father’s business when you’re older?”  
Sherlock examined his sword carefully. “No I don’t think so. I’d rather go adventuring on the seas like Odysseus.”  
Mrs. Hudson chuckled kindly. “Of course you would… Well you best get going. Your father is waiting for you.”

Sherlock sped out of his room and the stairs to where his father awaited him with his mother.  
“You behave now and do exactly as your father tells you, yes?” His mother asked softly.  
Sherlock nodded and gave her cheek a kiss, hugging her around the middle.  
“Of course mother. I promise.” He pulled away, still holding his sword, and looked at his father expectantly. Sigar bent over to kiss Lydia softly.  
“We should be back before long. Come on Sherlock. The carriage is ready.”  
Sherlock took his father’s hand, and hurried to the carriage, calling a quick goodbye to his dog, which lazed in the bright sun. It lifted its head to bark in response to his young master.

The ride down to the town from where their home perched at the crest of a hill next to the sea was not a long one, but Sherlock always looked out the window. He pushed the curtains to the side and looked out. The countryside was flush and green. Farms dotted all around, crops in full growth. There was much sun and much rain. The prosperity from the reign of Antonius Pius continued. Sherlock could see an aqueduct a little distance away, coming down to the town, carrying fresh water. He crossed to the other window and looked at the beautiful, sparking sea. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, the sun shining unrelentingly on everything as far as Sherlock could see. Surely this was a place worthy of the gods. Jupiter himself couldn’t resist a place such as this. And there was the temple, dedicated to Jupiter. It was the most beautiful building in the whole town, Sherlock thought. The towering columns were decorated with carvings of the history of Rome and stories of the gods. A statute of Jupiter in all his glory stood in a fountain before the steps of the temple. Long windows covered the sides of the temple. Sherlock couldn’t see the inside, but he knew form having been there many times that it was just as beautiful as the outside. The alter was his favorite. It was very simple marble, with a blessing carved around the base. The slab of stone that created a flat surface at the top was inlaid with gold. The simplicity was beautiful. The acoustics in the temple were something to be rivaled. The events that were held in the temple were always accompanied by music.

As much as Sherlock loved the trips into town, he preferred the ones which ended at the temple. Market days like this were much too crowded. Everybody in the town thronged to the market to get a look at the foreign specimens brought for show. Not only were there too many people for his liking, but they often smelled bad. Market day reeked of body odor, the cheap alcohol sold at the tavern, and sex. It seemed everybody made a point of visiting the whore houses the night before, and couldn’t be bothered to clean themselves before going into public. Sherlock cringed at the thought.

When the carriage stopped and the driver opened the door for them, Sherlock suddenly dropped his sword, and stepped out of the carriage gracefully. He was struck by the importance of what he was to do that day, and realized how silly he was being with his wooden sword. He took a deep breath of the foul air as he stepped to the ground, and straightened his shoulders. He would get use to the smell if he breathed normally. He turned his gaze to the main attraction of the day.

At the center of town, elevated on a stage, stood some of the biggest men Sherlock had ever seen. These were the professionally trained gladiators who were looking for a sponsor. They towered above the salesman who called out to the crowd.  
“The best! The finest! They could be yours! Gladiators trained at the finest schools in Rome! Bidding starts in ten minutes!”  
The gladiators muscles bulged at unrealistic sizes, and Sherlock had to concentrate on not letting his mouth fall open in shock at the sheer size of the men. Around the stage, women and men screamed and cheered as two of the brutes began fighting, demonstrating their skills. The women, already scantily clad held their tunics open, or pulled them to the side so that their breasts swung free, bouncing as the crowd jostled each other. The men in the crowd took advantage of the opportunity to grope the women. When a woman protested the treatment, another man would attempt to be the valiant hero and pull the other off the women. This usually resulted in a fight, which only added to the noise of the crowd. Sherlock raised his eyes at the display, wondering how anybody took enjoyment from the proceeding events. HE was use to these displays, but always wondered at theme.

However, the gladiators weren’t what Sherlock was there for. He turned to look at his father, speaking properly and trying his best to sound important.  
“Father? May I go look at the younger boys as you said? I’d like to purchase some of the sweet figs mother and I love, then see if there are any boys appropriate for training.”  
“Of course.” Sigar nodded, and gestured a grey-haired man forward. “But take mister Lestrade with you. He will provide protection, and I want him to approve your choice of boy.” SIgar handed Sherlock a purse of money. “Spend it wisely. Meet me back here when you’re done.”  
Sherlock nodded, and they separated, Sherlock and Lestrade heading away from the general mass of people, while Sigar headed straight into it.

First, Sherlock stopped at a small shop to get a basket of figs. He ate one of the juicy fruits as they walked, feeling quite pleased about how the day was going. He didn’t even notice the smell of the people around them anymore. Sherlock knew where he was going, and proudly lead the way to another street, lined with boys of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Some of the boys did exercises, trying to show off their bulk to prospective buyers. Others sat dully on the ground, the weight of the world on their shoulders. Others still fought with each other, some to show off, and some because they were angry at their predicament and needed a way to express that. It was one of these fighting couples that Sherlock stopped in front of, watching the angry spitting and scratching of the two young boys. But the fighting stopped almost as soon as Sherlock stopped to observe. An older boy with sandy hair grabbed the neck of one boy, and the hair of the other, yanking them apart rather impressively. The older boy exchanged fierce words with the boys, which Sherlock couldn’t hear. But the two who had fought reached out and shook hands. The older boy wasn’t finished. He ripped some fabric from their already ruined garments, gave one to the boy with a bleeding nose and made him hold it there. He turned to the other one and began to bandage the deep scratch in his arm. Sherlock looked over the blond male, sizing him up. He was broad and muscled nicely, but a bit short. Sherlock bit his lip, thinking. There were other boys to choose from, ones taller and broader than the one Sherlock had his eye on. But none had the same fierce, yet kind eyes. Sherlock hoped the boys strength and size would be enough. The boy would be easy to train into a good soldier. Lestrade would like that. Sherlock turned to Lestrade.  
“That one I think.”  
Lestrade followed the pointing finger, and didn’t react. “Tell me why.”  
Sherlock began to explain. “He’s already quite strong, but naturally, not from forced training. So it will be easy to train him how you want so that he’ll be in perfect condition. He’s not tall, but that could work to his advantage in the arena. He’ll be able to avoid attacks easier. Also, because of his build, he’ll be light on his feet.”  
Lestrade smiled at Sherlock, nodding. “Very good. Wait inside the shop. I’ll get the salesman.”  
Sherlock smiled proudly, pleased that Lestrade had approved of his choice. He sat down on a bench in the shop, gratefully for the reprieve from the sun. He waited a few minutes until Lestrade came into the shop, the boy in tow. Lestrade dismissed the salesman with a casual flick of his wrist. Lestrade halted the boy.  
“What’s your name, boy?”  
“John,” he hesitated, “sir.” John stared at the wall across the room, eyes fixed on one point, trying to show no emotion, but failing to cover how uncomfortable and nervous he was.  
“John I have some questions for you. Answer them honestly. Can you read?”  
John gave a short nod. “Yes sir.”  
“How old are you?”  
“Sixteen, sir.”  
“Have you had any weapon training?”  
“No, sir.”  
“How did you get this I shape?”  
“I grew up on a farm and my father died when I was young. I did most of the work, sir.”  
Lesstrade nodded. “Can you read?”  
John nodded again. “A bit sir. Not proficiently, but well enough.” He hesitated. “I’m an excellent rider. I grew up on a horse.”  
Lestarde nodded approvingly to both the statements. “Very good! Were you with any other salesmen before this one?”  
John nodded. “Yes. My mother needed money so I sold myself to a man for a decent sum. He thought he’s be able to sell me but when nobody wanted, me, to sold me to this man.” He gestured vaguely to the salesman outside.  
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Sold sexually?”  
John flushed a deep red. “No, no! Not like that at all! I wanted to make it to Rome to train…”  
“Castrated?” Lestrade asked abruptly.  
John became even more red, and Sherlock, who was carefully watching and listening, frowned. He didn’t know what that meant. He found out quickly.  
“W-what?”  
“I asked if you were castrated. You know what that means, don’t you? Do you have a cock between those two muscled legs?”  
John quickly shook his head and then nodded. “I know what it means, sir. I’m not castrated. The salesmen I was with only sold men…”  
Sherlock soon found his cheeks were almost as red as John’s.  
Lestrade did his best to keep a straight face as he watched John. “Very well. Remove your tunic so I can examine you.”  
John slowly dropped the tunic from his body, standing in his loincloth in front of Lestrade. Lestrade walked around him, measuring with his eyes and hands, predicting how much muscle John could put on, and how much he had already.  
Apparently satisfied, Lestrade came and stood in front of John again. “Excellent, John. I’m very pleased. Just one more thing. Do you know how they measure a man these days?”  
Sherlock frowned again. How did they measure a man? He found out quickly.  
When John’s cheeks heated up again, Lestrade spoke. “Surely you’ve nothing to be afraid of?”  
Sherlock couldn’t see John around Lestrades body, but he saw John’s loincloth drop to the floor. He saw Lestrade look down, and heard him laugh, clapping John on his shoulder.  
“You really are excellent, John. We need to work on how flustered you become. You’ll be living with nine other men. If you can’t handle cocks, well, you’re not going to last very long.” Lestrade turned and looked at Sherlock. “You chose well, Sherlock. I’ll notify the salesman of our decision.” He turned and left the shop. By the time Sherlock could see John again, his loincloth was back in place, and he was looking at Sherlock. Sherlock suddenly felt quite small again, but kept his head up, eyes defiant. After a moment of the staring contest, John spoke, putting his tunic back on.  
“I won’t bite, you know. I have a little sister.”  
Sherlock got up, slowly going over to John. He looked him up and down. “You have big hands.”  
John chuckled. “Yeah I do.” He held up a hand for Sherlock to see.  
Sherlock thought for a moment, then put a fig in John’s hand. John’s eyes twinkled as he took the fig.  
“Thank you, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock nodded curtly, and marched out to meet Lestrade.  
Lestrade was handing over money and signing papers. When he finished, he turned to look at John. “Do you have your things?”  
John held his arms out to the sides. “It’s just me, I’m afraid.”  
Lestrade shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Sherlock took the lead again, walking back through the streets proudly. The closer they got to the town center, the louder the roar of the crowd. When the stage came into view, Sherlock saw there were two gladiators missing. Two had been bought. Sherlock pushed his way through the drunk crowd, avoiding sloshing drinks and naked females left and right. The day had been exciting as it was, but Sherlock found he was in for another surprise. When he got back to the carriage, he saw Sigar looking incredibly small, standing next to one of the huge gladiators. Standing in front of the gladiator, Sherlock felt like he had to tip his head all the way back to see the brutes face. That done, he looked at his father questioningly.  
“This goes against everything you’ve done so far. Why?”  
His father shrugged. “Easy money. Mycroft is in Rome and can handle this fellow when we need a little extra. Besides, I wanted to try something new and fun. I trust you had a successful shopping trip?”  
Sherlock nodded, looking over at John and Lestrade. “Yes. And now I’d quite like to go home if that’s alright.”  
Sigar chuckled. “Yes that’s alright. There’ll be time for introductions later on. Lestrade? I trust you to get these to up to the house.”  
Lestrade nodded, beckoning to the large brute to follow him.  
As he was getting in the carriage, Sherlock cast another look at John, and saw him looking at the brute’s face, upon which rested an ugly scar. The look of alarm and repulsion on John’s face pleased Sherlock. It was clear John felt the same way about the gladiator that Sherlock did, and this pleased him.  
Sherlock spent the ride back to the house very much in his own head, thinking about how exciting the day had been. The town wasn’t so bad after all, and he’d proved himself capable of making good decisions. And John, John was wonderful. John was kind and strong. John would be Sherlock’s friend. He’d be Sherlock’s best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> What should I change about my writing? what do y'all think about the chapter as a whole?


End file.
